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The Perils of Petunia Pap Smear

A tale of just in the nick of time

The road to driving in Queertanic is fraught with danger and excitement.

I was driving in Queertanic VI and suddenly, with absolutely no warning, the engine died, leaving me stranded right in the middle of the intersection at 1700 South and State Street during rush hour.

This latest Queertanic was a mini-van and I loved it. I could fit in it breasticles and all. The Crinolines wouldn’t even catch in the door, and there was room to carry several wigs and five other queens. I wanted another mini-van, perhaps just like the one that died. I looked up several on KSL.com and prepared a list to test drive. I hate car shopping alone, so I called Moesha Montana (Momo) to come and hold my hand and reapply my makeup during the test-driving process.

First, we went to test drive a van in Salt Lake City. It looked quite nice in the photos, but in real life it’s mascara had run a little and the elastic in it’s girdle seemed a little stretched. But Momo and I climbed in and headed for the steep hill on 8th South. Before we started climbing the hill, the credit union called my cell phone and said that I was approved for the loan.  I looked at Momo and squealed like a school girl, “I can buy a car today!” Then we climbed the hill. We both noticed a nasty burning smell coming from the car, worse than a wig full of Aqua Net on fire. Not this van!

I called a car lot in Pleasant Grove that had advertised “the cleanest used car I’ve ever seen.” I told him we would be there at 5 p.m. I usually have serious reservations about going to “Happy Valley” for any reason, but I was desperate. It was Friday evening on a holiday weekend. Traffic was even more of a bitch than me when I am on a diet. I worried that the lot would close before we could get there. Then the dealer called me and said someone had just been test driving that van, and it had gotten a flat tire, so he was taking it to the tire store and he might be late. Perfect!

We arrived at 6 p.m. The van was more beautiful than Dorothy’s ruby slippers. We went for a test drive. The van had: Power. Grace. Good Makeup. Great Hair. A Nice Scent. And it had three sets of color-coordinated floor mats. The carpet indeed matched the drapes!

Momo stepped away from the van, so that she could whisper to me, “Get this car.” At 6:30 we began the paperwork. Then I realized that I needed to go to the credit union to get the money. Luckily, there was a branch just a mile from the dealer. We rushed out of the dealership, and drove into the blinding sunset toward the bank. Upon arriving, I practically ran into the bank. It was a sight that should not be seen by polite company because of all the surplus jiggling and excessive sweat.  Thank God for girdles and sensible shoes!

We got to the bank at 6:35 on a holiday weekend. A very cheerful and delightfully handsome man named Steve greeted us. Now, Steve had a recently returned-missionary look about him, which is one of my greatest weaknesses in the world. His pants were tight enough that we could see he was circumcised. We got the vapors. Then he turned his back to us and bent down to get some forms, and that butt… . That beautiful, perfectly rounded, tight enough to bounce a quarter off of ass in those exceedingly tight brown pants was staring us in the face, and we were left speechless. Perhaps I need to give “Happy Valley” another chance. We finished signing the papers at one minute before 7 pm. One minute later and we would have had to return the next day to finish.

With much blushing, and a little bit of excess ogling of the buns, we bid farewell to Steve and raced back to the dealership. The dealer told us that while we were at the bank, the previous test driver had returned and wanted to purchase the van. Lucky for me, I had signed the papers before I left for the bank. If we had hesitated for even a few minutes, we could have lost it. Truly this was a case of perfect timing. To celebrate, we went to dinner at Chubby’s Neighborhood Restaurant and had a big greasy burger. Oh so delicious. I really might need to give ‘Happy Valley” a chance.

On Saturday evening at 6:30 p.m., I returned from a run to Costco and I noticed I had run over a screw and the tire was leaking air. I called Victor’s Tires to see if they were open. They said come on over and within 30 minutes I had a repaired tire. On Independence Day, I drove to Brigham City to watch fireworks with the grandkids, and while there, another tire sprung a leak. I quickly drove to the Walmart tire shop at 6:30 p.m. on a holiday. They didn’t want to let me in, but the cashier said that they were scheduled until 7 and she would make them do it. So I bought a new tire.

This story leaves us with several important questions:

·       Did Moses really see a burning bush, or was it just a wig on fire?

·       Can only overweight queens eat at Chubby’s?

·       The van is white. Does that mean that I can’t drive it after Labor Day?

·       Since everything with this car happens on a weekend or holiday at 6:30 p.m., should that be declared happy hour?

·       Instead of Queertanic VII, should I name this car Queertanic 6:30?

These and other eternal questions shall be answered in future chapters of the Perils of Petunia Pap Smear.

About the author

Petunia Pap Smear

Petunia Pap Smear

Petunia Pap Smear is a Matron of Mayhem who was born and raised in Cache Valley, Utah. She hosts Third Friday Bingo and the Big Gay Fun Bus.

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